I have been reading a lot – a lot – while I recover from this whatever-this-Thing-is that I suspect is the fruit of air travel. The least I can do is share a bit (of the reading, not the Thing). Any book I finish reading is not necessarily related to the next one I start; I'm just shortening the stack next to the bed, with the occasional stroll through the news on my laptop.
Randy Newman, in The NY Times, on breaking into the music business now:
Who would want to break into it? It’s like a bank that’s already been robbed.
Alan Alda, in Growing Up Laughing, by Marlo Thomas:
I think it's good for [actors] to laugh together… because then they'll be vulnerable and opened up to each other. You can't stay guarded while you're laughing. You can't be in your own world when you're on stage.
Real equality is going to come not when a female Einstein is recognized as quickly as a male Einstein, but when a female schlemiel is promoted as quickly as a male schlemiel.
Marlo Thomas, in Growing Up Laughing:
No one ever tells you that grief is physical.
Dame Judi Dench, in her new memoir, And Furthermore:
[In] the economy of presenting a character…I think what you leave out is more important than what you put in.
Louisa May Alcott, in Little Women:
Jo read till her eyes gave out.
Believe me, it can happen. Of course, I have the perfect cure for that: cold teabag compresses… and maybe a tiny tiny very wee piece of chocolate (no, not on my eyes).